


Breath of Life

by elandrialore



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Curses and spells, Knight Braeden, Mild torture, Multi, POV Scott McCall, Pining, Prince Scott, True Alpha Scott McCall, happy ever after, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elandrialore/pseuds/elandrialore
Summary: Two years ago Scott was cursed.





	Breath of Life

"We should bury them."

Scott doesn't know what he looks like in the moment, he feels numb, but Braeden's face softens, the sharp retort dying on her lips. "Your conscience pricks at you," she says, standing from the hastily packed bag at her feet. "I know. But we've no time to waste on men who made their choice."

"Are our choices always right then, Braeden? Do we condemn these men without knowing their hearts?"

She steps toward him, but before she can speak more reason, a low voice interrupts. "She's right."

Scott blinks, having forgotten about the second soldier. He looks up from where he's kneeling by one of the bodies; his eyes clear and unaccountably beautiful on his blood spattered face.

"Custom would be to set them ablaze" he continues, "but it would only give guidance to any who might align with them. To bury them would be only be an insult."

He stands, wiping his blade, and Scott has to swallow hard and look away, the stench of blood causing bile to rise in his throat. "Then we'll build a pyre and let those who come after light it," he says thickly. He gives Braeden a steady look, then steps away without another word, gathering branches as he goes, taking shallow breaths through his mouth.

He knows she's only thinking of safety, but Scott can't help the ache inside him that grows every time Braeden's defense of him ends in death. He doesn't blame her for her actions. He knows very well that in the heart of her she does not take joy in killing, but she also does not regret the lives she has taken.

Her loyalty to him is absolute, and Scott would undoubtedly feel better about it if he knew he'd done something to deserve it other than be born a prince.

He breathes slowly, flexing his stiff fingers, remembering his mother's teachings as he listens idly to Braeden's queries to the soldier.

The soldier holds himself close, Scott thinks. A trait that he and Braeden share, and Scott can't help but smile when the soldier meets her veiled questions with his own.

"What's your name?" Scott asks, reentering the clearing. He deposits the branches next to the bodies and stands again to meet the man's eyes.

"Derek."

There's a hesitation before he gives it, but Scott merely inclines his head with respect. "A noble name for a noble man. We appreciate your timely assistance, and if you are headed to the northern lands, we will also appreciate your continued companionship."

Derek darts a glance at Braeden before he says slowly, "You do not know me, nor I you."

"Scott," he says holding out his hand. Derek looks baffled at his offered palm, but he reaches out slowly to clasp it.

His hands is rough from war, but the feel of it is not unpleasant, and Scott is forced to clear his throat and step back before the heat building inside him reaches his face.

"There," he says, to cover his misstep. "We are no longer strangers."

Braeden snorts softly, but moves to briskly break camp as Scott continues to gather wood; Derek a somehow reassuring presence beside them.  
***  
By the following day, Scott is in love.

"You're so beautiful," he says fervently, running his hands through lustrous hair. He strokes his hands over smooth flesh, eyes riveted to the thick muscles rippling beneath skin. "Your very presence is the most divine gift."

"I fear you may have lost your mount," Braeden says, her voice lilting with fondness and humor.

Derek snorts, and Scott ignores them both entirely, his eyes locked on the intelligent brown eyes of Derek's war horse, Rikka. She has flaxen hair and a light chestnut coat that is almost golden in the midday light.

"Pay them no mind," he says, stroking her face as she nibbles the apple from his palm.

When she's had her fill, he checks her over, noting the meticulous care from her hooves to her tail, and his estimation of Derek only rises.

"Your care for her speaks well of you." Scott takes his seat between the two soldiers, sipping his soup from the small wooden bowl that Braeden provides.

"The care is returned."

He says it simply, though Scott already knows that Derek is not a simple man. He'd provided dried spiced meat for their evening meal, had been ever vigilant during the previous day's ride. Had taken last night's watch without a word.

Scott knows Braeden had remained awake through the night, but Scott had slipped easily into dreams for the first time in over a year.

That night Scott takes watch as the forest settles around him. He knows the sound of the trees, the small rustle of night dwelling animals. He casts his senses out, breathing in the crispness of the season's slow slide into winter.

Beside him, Braeden's heart beats strong and steady, her breathing slow. He knows she'll awake in a moment at his distress, but she has learned to trust him over their many months together.

Scott doesn't think ill of Derek for not having the same faith. "You've no need to pretend for me," he offers.

Long moments pass before Derek shifts on his blanket. His eyes are hooded in the light of the moon, his shoulders tense, and so Scott speaks to him of his mother, of his brother. Speaks to him with the warmth of fond memories, his mouth curving in pleasure as he watches Derek's body ease.

"I still know all the old songs," Scott says with a laugh, "so my brother's changed lyrics did what they were meant, even if they were unappreciated by my tutors." At Derek's wisp of a smile, Scott adds, "I can sing them to you if you like."

Derek nods, and Scott licks his lips before he begins in a low tenor, his voice calling softly on the wind of battles long fought, and loyalties won. He sings of love and honor as the sun spills gold over the mountain, alighting Derek's soft smile with the dawn of a new day.  
***  
The days grow colder as they shorten, and Braeden has allowed them a fire with their midday meal. Derek had taken the opportunity to hunt and comes back with two fat hares and brace of quail.

"Excellent," Scott says, but Derek's eyes are on Braeden.

She is a sight, Scott thinks, though the months have forced him to become accustomed to the aesthetics of her form when she is training. Scott no longer has to tear his eyes from her as he once did, and he can only smile at Derek's gobsmacked gaze.

"She would likely welcome a worthy opponent," Scott says, stifling his laughter as Derek stumbles toward her.

They're magnificent, the pair of them, and Scott can all but feel the curling heat of their desire as they dance to a clashing rhythm, their swords and bodies meeting with force and precision. Laughter hides in the corners of their mouths and sparkles in the flash of their eyes, and Scott can only hold his joy close to guard himself against envy.

He knows that they cannot live in exile forever. Knows he would not be able to endure giving Braeden a life sentence, and he's always hoped she would find a companion. In the two short weeks, Derek has shown himself to be a worthy one, and Scott has not missed the lingering looks between the two.

They end the fight with laughter, Braeden taking Derek down with a stroke, though her voice holds no triumph when she says, "I know you're not giving me your all, soldier."

Scott turns away on Derek's soft, "Everything I have to give, Lady Knight." Instead he focuses his senses on the crackle and scent of the fire, the sizzle of meat. The herbs he's gathered season their lean fair richly, and he takes care with it as it is the only thing he has to give to his two protectors.  
***  
Derek laughs with them now, a wry amused chuckle that warms Scott in the cooling nights. He shares stories with them and has a talent for storytelling: fables that Scott has never heard with magical beasts and heroic deeds.

He listens intently to Braeden, spars with her often, and hunts when he can.

"He is a noble man," Scott says to Braeden on a quiet, misty morning.

Her dark eyes search his face even while her hands remain busy braiding the frayed ends of her harness. "He still has secrets, my lord."

Scott takes a slow breath before he meets her gaze. "As do we. And I would ask again before the winter sets in, that you allow me to release you from your vow. If you cannot find your happiness with Derek, then I ask you to find it with someone else of your choosing."

Braeden's smile is wistful as she ties the final knot, her hand stroking soothingly over the mare's neck.

"Braeden, please," Scott pleads softly.

"You have always thought me far more honorable than I am." She's mounted before he can say another word, and Scott is forced to bite his lip as Derek returns from scouting.  
***  
This moon is coming to a close, and with it Scott's restlessness only increases. He can feel it clawing underneath his skin, a howling need, and it's the only reason he can name for his inattention.

It's not enough, he thinks, as Braeden's blood runs thick over his hands.

His heart thunders as he sews up her flesh, his hands tremble as he spreads the poultice over her wounds before he bandages her with one of his old shirts, once fine but now mended in more places than he can count. Now it will forever be stained from her blood, and Scott has to clamp his mouth shut before he screams.

"Here," Derek says softly.

The bowl in his hands is wide and well made. The liquid clear, and Scott blinks up at Derek without comprehension.

"Here," Derek says again, setting the bowl between them and taking Scott's hands on his own, dipping them in the warm liquid.

He takes a leftover strip of Scott's old tunic and soaks it in the water before rubbing it gently over Scott's forearms, his palms. Dipping it in the water again before he goes over Scott's fingers one at a time, carefully washing the blood from his knuckles and under his nails. His gestures are slow and oddly soothing, even though Scott can only watch as the water goes pink and then red, the cloth gone rust colored in Derek's hands.

"You think yourself useless," Derek says.

Scott looks up at Derek, startled, but Derek's head remains bowed, intent on his work.

"You think yourself to blame," he continues.

Scott swallows hard, tears pricking at his eyes. "It's my fault. She would never have been out here if it weren't for me. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me," he adds bitterly.

Derek looks up at him at that, his eyes clear. "Are you a god?"

Scott makes a wretched noise in his throat: denial and anguish and despair. His eyes squeeze shut as he takes a breath, his voice strained. "She only stays because of her honor. She is sworn to protect me."

Derek cocks his head to the side. "My mother always said that honor is not a choice made once, but every day." He finishes drying Scott's hand and then adds, "She once said the same about love. You should think on Braeden's choices."

The look in Derek's eyes makes Scott's chest go tight, his breath go ragged like it had so often when he was a child. "I'm not - I can't-"

Derek's hands are strong and warm as they cover Scott's. "Rest here with her," he says quietly. "I will take care of the camp and the midday meal."

He's gone swiftly, though Scott can still hear him through the tangle of his own thoughts. He can still hear Braeden as well; the reassuring beat of her heart, the steady rise and fall of her chest. He takes her hand in his own. Bathes her as gently and carefully as Derek had done for him, and tries to breathe.  
***  
By evening, Braeden has still not woken, but Scott knows it is a healing sleep. He cannot bear to wake her even though he knows she'll likely be cross when she rouses. Call him too trusting, though Scott knows she's softened toward Derek as well.

The other man's name is thick on his tongue when Scott calls for him, and he can hear Derek's soothing murmur to Rikka before Derek settles near the fire.

His eyes are keen as they take in Braeden's still form, the bubbling stew and Scott's anxious face. "That seems very little stew for the two of us."

His tone is soft with a question not asked, and Scott's fingers grow restless against the phial in his pocket. He ducks his head, unable to look at the concern in the shifting colors of Derek's eyes. "I am ill," he admits softly. "My affliction is managed and does not spread to others," he assures, "but the treatment leaves me...vulnerable."

It had taken them months to figure out the right combination of herbs and incantations to release him to sleep through the three nights when the moon was at its peak. Braeden had almost had to kill him a half a dozen times to stop the beast inside him from rampaging every time it failed to work, and more than once he'd woken to blood crusted on his nails.

He'd all but wept when he woke the first time knowing that he'd caused no harm. Though he'd been feverish and aching for three days, the moment he'd confirmed his thoughts had been mere hallucination and not reality he could only slump in relief.

Braeden had wanted to keep testing until they found something that would cause him less pain, but Scott was too worried that any more testing would only increase the chances of someone else being hurt. He always got through it as stoically as he could, but without Braeden to look after him they would both be at risk.

He looks up to meet Derek's eyes. "I ask you for your word. That you will look after her. That you will protect her above everything."

"And you?"

"In three days time I will be fine. I know it is a burden, but-"

"It is my honor to stand as guard."

The words are formal, an echo of the vow given during a knighthood ceremony, and Scott has to bite back his standard response, whispering a soft, "thank you," instead.

Scott doesn't remember much after that. He remembers Derek's big hand cupping his face and the blessed cool of spring water in his mouth. He remembers Derek's low voice spinning a tale: the strong rock that could be sharp or blunted, could be used to build or destroy, could make a spark but could not burn; the wood, more supple but not as strong. Could burn but not make a spark. Together they could smoke or smolder, but the fire would never burn long enough or bright enough.

Not without breath, the basis of all life. If it was too strong, then it would burn through the wood until it was nothing but ash. Would char the rock until it was brittle. But too weak and the flame would go out; a whisper of smoke the only memory.

The breath was the key and the control, that which brings the others together.

Later, he hears Braeden's murmured voice, her hands carding through Scott's hair as she speaks with fondness. Her voice rich and soothing, and the low warmth of Derek's laugh.

He dreams of Braeden riding astride her sturdy mare, her arms cradled in front of her belly like she's swollen with child, her smile flashing brilliantly as Derek whispers words of love in her ear. Scott hums happily as he sinks into a field of golden wheat, the warm earth rumbling beneath him before it swallows him into darkness.  
***  
When he wakes it is still to warmth and darkness, and Scott blinks a few times before he can gather his wits about him.

He's curled next to Derek's knee, and when he looks up, Derek's eyes are shining unworldly in the firelight. He feels the stroke of Derek's thumb over the skin on his wrist and it warms him even further, blood rushing to his face when Derek murmurs, "Good morning."

He ducks his head, wanting at once to both flee and to stay in this moment, and it's only then that he realizes he has woken from his full moon fever free of pain. He blinks up at Derek again, mouth dropping open softly in surprise to see Derek's mouth curving in a smile. Flustered, he rolls over to see Braeden smiling at him as well over her steaming cup.

"You are well?" he asks, sitting up, his eyes raking over what he can see of her form.

"We were both well tended," she replies, her eyes twinkling at Scott as he shifts to a seated position.

Derek's hand falls away from his, and Scott has to stop himself from reaching back out to him, though he can now feel the chill on his skin. He clears his throat, then blinks when he realizes that they are not at the same camp that they'd been in. There's a rough cliff side behind them and jetting out to their right, and Scott can hear the rush of water. "Where-"

"I felt it advisable to move us to a more defensible position," Derek answers him.

He does not meet Scott's look when he says this, his eyes downcast in his lap, his fingers digging into the furs, and Braeden won't stop watching him with a most gleeful expression. Confused and worn, Scott stands slowly. "I'm going to bathe."

The waters will be ice cold, but perhaps they will kill the heat that inexplicably starts creeping up into his face.

He undoes his ties, his nose wrinkling at the stench of dried sweat as he tugs his tunic from his back. At Derek's hiss he turns back, half in and half out of his clothes.

Derek's eyes have gone hard and Braeden has gone still, her eyes locked on Derek's pale face. Her voice is wary as she says Derek's name, but Scott can still hear the concern for him.

Derek stands in a single fluid movement, and walks slowly toward Scott. His palms facing out, a gesture of faith, but it only makes Scott's heart trip in his chest. He can see Braeden stand carefully, eyes watchful, but she doesn't move closer when Derek asks, "May I?"

Scott nods before he thinks to ask for clarification, but Derek keeps his movements slow as he pulls Scott's tunic from his grasp, his eyes moving over the expanse of Scott's bared chest. He feels heat again at Derek's intent gaze, but it only barely takes the edge off the chill of queerness from knowing that something is very wrong.

Derek moves around him slowly, but Scott can feel his gaze like a touch. He bites his lip and holds back his words as he watches Braeden for any clue of Derek's thoughts. He sees her tense once. Can feel the warmth of Derek's hand as it traces the air over his shoulder blades and down the center of his spine, but when Derek moves in front of him again, Scott can see nothing but the same solemn expression.

"You have been cursed," Derek says. They are words that Scott has heard in his nightmares for almost two years now. Words that are usually followed by screams and blood, but Derek just takes Scott's hands in his own and says, "I think I know someone who can help you. Do you trust me?"

And again, Scott can only nod.  
***  
"I don't...understand," Scott says finally, looking up from his hands. "They made me into a beast."

"And you cannot be unmade." Deaton's eyes are dark and steady on his own.

He looks like a simple man: handwoven clothes in undyed fabrics, sturdy furniture, plain - if hearty - fare. He looks like a simple man, but Scott can read the intelligence in his eyes. Can see the stacks of books and dried herbs, a far more in depth library than even his mother had accrued. Can trace with his eyes the marks of power that loop over the man's skin beneath the edges of his shirt.

"Most men have beasts inside of us," Deaton continues evenly. "Only some are aware of them. Fewer still can control them." His eyes flicker to Derek, his mouth softening, but Derek ducks his head.

Unlike Scott, he had been born with a beast inside of him. His voice breaking when he'd confessed it. Speaking of his mother who'd always said it was a gift. _That it was forced upon you,_ he says, sounding heartbroken, _is the greatest sin my kind can commit._

"But if you remove the curse," Scott says, looking back to Deaton. "You think that I will be able to tame my beast?"

"Derek believes it to be so," he says simply, and this time Scott can see the tips of Derek's ears turn pink.

Scott turns from Derek to Braeden, who has been watching silently. Her gaze is guarded, but she meets Scott's eyes, nodding solemnly. He can all but hear her say that she will follow his lead in this as she always has. "All right," Scott agrees. "Derek trusts you, and I...if there is any way that I will no longer be a danger to others, then I will put my trust in you as well. What must I do?"

"Derek?" Deaton beckons.

Derek straightens from his lean against the wall and moves to kneel at Scott's feet. Scott raises an eyebrow in question, but allows Derek to take his hands in his own, the rough pads of his fingers stroking lightly over Scott's knuckles and then up to his wrists.

"I cannot break the curse until I am able to see it with my own eyes," Deaton explains, setting several pokers into the fire. "The process will be," he pauses to look back at Scott, "unpleasant."

He stokes the fire again, the rods glowing now with heat, and Scott swallows dryly. "You must burn it out of me,” he concludes, and Deaton nods sharply.

"Scott,” Braeden says, crossing to them, "you cannot-"

"It's okay," Scott thinks, but it's not his voice. Derek's fingers stroke over his skin again, and Scott shivers. "I won't let the pain touch him."

It takes almost an hour; the smell of cooked flesh clogging up his nose. His skin blistering and peeling back, but his eyes are locked on the Derek and Braeden, both of them kneeling before him like they're giving vows. Their bodies pressed next to his as black marks snake up Derek's hands to disappear beneath his tunic.

"You did this for me doing the full moon," Scott says softly at the remembered sensation. "You protected us both."

Braeden's head rests against Derek's shoulder, one arm behind behind his back, her other hand atop theirs.

In the aching silence, Derek whispers, "It is my honor to stand as guard."  
***  
The spell is complex, but known to Deaton. In the two days it will take him to assemble what he needs to break it, Derek tells him of his own childhood. Of learning his own control.

"My mother always spoke of it as a great tree: branches reaching up to the sky, but anchored by roots that dug deep into the ground, able to bend but not break."

His smile is wistful, and Scott wants to run his fingertips over the curve of Derek's lips. "Is that how you anchored yourself as well?"

His smile turns fragile and it makes Scott seize in his chest. "For a time, yes." His eyes are bleak as they look out over the muddy patch between the house and the barn. "There was a tree in our courtyard, old and powerful, and I used to look out at it as I studied the family histories. I would-" his voice clutches, and Scott cannot stop himself from putting a hand on Derek's arm.

From his other side, Braeden bumps into Derek softly. Offers him her steaming cup of tea. He sips it gratefully, letting it warm him.

"I would name the branches after my family. The big gnarled one was my great grandfather Gregor. The slender, whippy branch near the top my sister Laura."

The names itch in Scott's mind, and when he closes his eyes he can see it: the sunlight dappling through the thick leaves, the soft breeze on his face. He remembers looking down to see the Queen - fairer than his own mother, but hair just as dark. He remembers the low sound of her voice as she curtsied to him and called him _Little prince._

He remembers her eyes.

Derek's eyes.

"Crann Bethadh," Scott whispers, and Derek jerks against him. "I remember her," Scott says, opening his eyes. "I remember you. You were quite terrible to me, as I recall."

"I was...quite difficult that year. My uncle Peter," he shakes his head. Takes a shuddering breath. "After my family was murdered and I was forced to abdicate to save Cora, I gave what land I could to those I trusted and I went into the woods."

"Were looking for peace or for penance," Braeden asks, stealing back her tea, and settling in next to Scott.

"Neither," Derek says, then shakes his head. "Maybe both."

"And what did you find?"

His eyes move from Braeden to Scott and back again. "Salvation."  
***  
After everything, Scott expects something more than Deaton's quiet voice saying, "The curse is lifted."

Scott's eyes fly open to see Deaton putting his supplies back, neatly packing them away. "That's it?"

Deaton's mouth twitches. "That's it. If you feel comfortable you should try shifting."

"I don't-" Scott looks to Derek and Braeden in a panic, but they both look calmly back at him.

"Think of your anchor," Derek offers.

Scott immediately thinks of his mother's arms holding him close, singing songs under her breath. He thinks of his brother's sharp wit and sharper tongue. He thinks of Braeden's soft laugh and her fierce loyalty; the touch of Derek's hand and the warmth of his care.

When he opens his eyes he sees his claws unfurl through a gold tinged glow. His laugh high and a little wild as he looks up. "I feel like...I want to run. Is that-"

"Over the next several hours your instincts will get stronger," Deaton says. "Your senses should sharpen as well, so there will be a period of adjustment. But I think with your two protectors you'll do just fine."

Scott just looks at him and blinks until Deaton sighs, and stands to open the door. "Go," he says, motioning outside.

Scott beams at him and then scampers out; power thrumming through his half shifted body, and a howl rising in his throat. Once outside, he lets it break free, then tumbles delightedly through the forest when Derek howls back.

He feels like he could run for hours, and perhaps he does, because the sun is sinking low into the sky when he collapses in a small meadow. He breathes deep and unrestricted as he waits for his guards to catch up: Derek first, stretching out merely a hands breadth away, and then Braeden who sits at their heads, her face tilted toward the sun as they catch their breaths.

He can smell the sweet lavender from the meadow, the salt of their sweat. The earth around them. He can hear the birds rustling in the trees and the heartbeats close to his own.

"Is it like this all the time?" Scott asks.

"It was. When my family was alive."

Scott can scent the change in Derek, and he twists to lay his head on Derek's chest, even as Braeden brushes her fingers through Derek's dark hair. The acrid scent fades slowly, but it's almost overwhelmed by a deeper scent that makes Scott smile.

He catches Braeden's eye, and she smiles back before she looks to Derek. "Tell us about them," she says, still stroking Derek's hair. "What is your happiest memory?"

They sit in the meadow as the sun turns the world golden, listening to Derek's quiet voice, and the echo of laughter.  
***  
It's a week before he'll let himself face Braeden in a mock battle, though he'd been sparring with Derek from the second day.

"Are you afraid I will beat you, my prince?" Braeden's smirk is crooked and playful, her eyes alight with mischief.

"You know well that is not my concern," Scott says with an exaggerated eye roll. There have been occasions in the last two years where Scott has won his bouts with her, but they have always been far between.

He could have picked no better sparring partner to test his skills, but he knows very well that it is a test. As playful as Braeden looks, he's very aware that he could hurt her now more than he ever could.

But his body remembers how to move, his anchor is firmly rooted into the earth, and he laughs in exhilaration when Braeden dances away from him with a grin. 

"You're quicker, my lord, but you still overthink your moves."

Derek chuckles from the patch of grass that he's sunning himself in, his long body relaxed, and it only takes that second of inattention for Braeden to attack, sweeping his legs from under him and pinning him to the earth.

"You let yourself be distracted, my lord."

Braeden's smile is a satisfied curve, and for a moment Scott's breathlessness has nothing to do with sparring. He can feel the heat pulse through him where they touch, can smell the musky scent of his own arousal, and he scrambles away blindly with a pained noise, gulping in deep breaths.

"Scott," Braeden asks, her voice filled with concern. "Did I-"

"I'm fine," he says, though he knows his smile is pained. "I-" he breaks off, brow furrowing. "Someone's coming."

When he looks up, Derek is already on his feet and looking to where the sun is hovering on the horizon. "One rider," he states, edging toward them. "Coming fast."

Scott huffs as Braeden moves in front of him, her voice as firm as the grip on her fighting staff when she says, "Go inside."

He feels the sting of it far more than he's become accustomed to, and wonders briefly if it's the arrogance of the newly wakened beast inside him or his own increased pride in his abilities. Either way, they are both less important than knowing he is of more danger to her by placing himself next to her as a target, so he nods swiftly and returns to the cabin.

Deaton looks up as he enters and Scott says, "There's a rider," as he closes the door behind him and angles himself at the window.

Deaton's footsteps are hard to track, even with Scott's enhanced hearing, but he can feel the heat of the man as he arranges himself beside Scott. "You wish you were out there with them."

He can feel Deaton's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn. "I care little for people placing themselves in danger to ensure my protection."

"Surely you must have been taught from a young age that your life was worth more than others."

Deaton's gaze is guileless, but it is not the first time Scott believed that the healer knew who he was. Who he had been. "I was taught from birth that my role in life was to protect my people," Scott says meeting Deaton's eyes. "It suits me ill when they are forced by circumstance to protect me instead."

Deaton nods in acknowledgement, then turns back to the window. The figure appears like an apparition: dressed in smokey gray, sitting atop a mount of nearly the same color, making them look like a single fierce animal bearing down on them. Unaccountably Deaton's shoulders ease slightly.

"My sister," he say, answering the unasked question. "But I fear the news is not good."  
***  
Marin is like her brother in countenance, her manner composed, but that is where her resemblance stops. Scott can feel the frisson along his skin, an echo of thunder, even as she eyes them silently before turning to her brother.

"I should have suspected that you were the eye, brother." She dismounts in a smooth motion. Her movements eerily quiet after the fury of her arrival.

"How far has the storm reached?"

Scott blinks at Deaton's words. The thrum of tension humming through them like a coiled rope suddenly stretched taut.

"How far does the sun's light reach?" Marin answers smoothly.

The knot in Scott's stomach tightens as he looks between them. "Speak plainly, please," Scott says, pulling their attention. "Since your words are about me."

Marin cocks her head, but Deaton turns to him. "When I broke your curse, those attuned to magic could feel the snap."

"Then the one who did this to him would know of it," Braeden says. Her gaze travels back to the road, to the land beyond. Her grip tightening on her sword.

"He knows of it," Marin agrees. "And now that I know the cause, his actions seem almost reasonable."

Scott licks his lips, knowing he has to ask the question. "And what are his actions?"

"He's chosen to start a war. He rode on your mother's lands this morning."

Scott doesn't remember falling to his knees, his voice a keening wail. He only knows the feel of Derek's hands on his shoulders, the steady presence of Braeden at his back.

"It's okay," Derek says, cupping his hand to Scott's face.

Scott's chest feels tight, his breath coming in pants as he sobs out, "I never should have-"

"Shhh, shhh," Derek pulls him close, bolstering him with his body, and Scott can't help but melt into his strength, the familiar scent of him.

"If he hurts her-"

His own voice is ragged with fear, but Braeden's voice is steady and strong, her will unbending when she says, "We will not let him."

Three days later, on his knees and his mouth filled with the taste of his own blood, Scott thinks of her words, firms his jaw, and looks back up into the eyes of hell.  
***  
The Demon Wolf, Marin had called him.

He wears the shape of a man, but Scott can see the lean, hungry animal beneath his skin. Prowling and pacing and snapping its teeth as the man's lips pull back in a teeth baring smile. "The prodigal son returns."

The low rumble of his voice sends a frisson up Scott's spine, and the grin broadens in front of him, glinting white in the light of the fire.

"You have been troublesome, my young prince. More than I expected."

"Why are you doing this?" Scott grits out, unable to stop his hands from pulling at his bonds. "I don't even know you."

His eyes flash red as he grins, and Scott clenches his hands, his claws biting into his own flesh and drawing blood.

"But I know of you, princeling. You carry your father's name: War-wielder." His eyes are pale as they lean forward, stopping just before the barrier of ash laid down by the witch.

The magic sparks every time Scott touches it: a feeling of not quite pain that ripples through his body. "Is that why you're afraid of me?"

Something shifts in the face in front of him before it breaks into a smile. His laugh harsh and ragged. "You think me afraid, boy?" The army behind him rumbles when he glances toward them: men and beasts and some half shifted between. They look to the Wolf with a desperation that makes Scott's stomach turn at the unnatural sight of it, but the Wolf's smile goes sharp with pleasure. "An army behind me, a witch at my service, and you think I would be frightened of _you_?"

Even the men look like beasts in the firelight: hungry and anxious for battle. Scott casts his eyes over them before they land again on the Wolf in front of him. "I came to you, a boy, in your words, unarmed, with only the hope that I could convince you to leave my mother in peace. In answer, I was bound and bloodied and locked in a cage. Even with an army at your back, and a witch at your side," he says, standing slowly, letting his hands falling freely at his sides, "You fear me."

The Wolf's face twists, and Scott can feel the heat of his rage before it cools to ice. "Perhaps my attention towards you has given you too high of an opinion of yourself. But you will fall, my young prince. As others have before you."

He nods to one of his underlings without taking his milky eyes from Scott. Smiles when Scott can't help but surge forward in his panic, his eyes locking on Braeden as she writhes and struggles against the iron grip of her captor.

Her face is bloodied, but there's still a snarl on her mouth as she meets Scott's eyes - dark to dark - and Scott's heart kicks in his chest.

"Did you think I wouldn't find your pretty little spy?" The Wolf circles her, but Braeden's eyes stay on Scott's fierce and determined, even when her head is yanked back, exposing her throat. The Wolf leans down, his dead, white eyes finding Scott's unerringly. "She smells of you. Your scent is all over her lovely skin."

Braeden doesn't make a sound as the Wolf trails his fingers over her throat. Doesn't flinch as claws extend from his fingertips, digging into her skin. Her flesh parting, slow and painful, and the scent of it has Scott barking out a sharp, distressed noise that echoes at the edges of the night.

The army shifts, responding with low growls and yips as Scott presses bloodied palms to the barrier.

"Please," he whispers, voice wracked.

A smile splits the Wolf's pale face. "Such compassion from the son of a murderer. Whatever would your father think?"

Drawing in a breath, Scott ignores the scent of ash and anger, and tries to draw together his calm. Thinks of his anchor; the steadiness of Braeden's gaze, and the rhythmic beat of Derek's heart.

"If your anger is with my father," he says evenly, "then let me bear it. Let my mother and her people be free."

"It is your mother and her people that _want_ to suffer." The Wolf's face twisted into a snarl as he tosses Braeden aside and surges forward. "She banished your father to protect her people, thinking _nothing_ of the others he would see fit to destroy."

"She-"

"I hunted your father back," the Wolf snaps, circling Scott's cage. "I destroyed those who would not give us aid, and I turned your mother's heir into a beast like me. You may have broken my witch's magic, _boy_ ," he says, leaning in close. "But I am your sire, I am your Alpha, and like all of these beasts, you _will_ obey me. And when I have your mother before me, I will watch as her darling son rips her throat out with his teeth."

There's a pounding in his ears, and for a moment Scott can't tell if it's real or just his heartbeat. Then Braeden is cursing, struggling against two guards, and they're looking towards the battlefield.

Scott drags his dazed eyes from Braeden's to face the darkened stretch of land. His mother's army is a dark shifting mass at the edge of the horizon, but in the space between, light glints with flashes of pale gold.

"No." Scott whispers the denial, because he's sure his eyes must be deceiving him. Derek's not even supposed to be there. He'd left Deaton's before any of them, his ride the longest as he skirted around the Wolf's army and his passel of scouts to get to Delgado land. To get to Scott's mother to tell her of her enemy's weaknesses.

Derek's not supposed to be charging through the battlefield on his golden warhorse, vulnerable to both sides.

The heat flees Scott's body, leaving space only for ice as the Wolf rumbles a laugh, commanding his archers.

When he was a child, his breath would go ragged, his lungs folding inward like a small bird settling its wings. Tight and compact; not leaving enough space for him to breathe.

This feels nothing like that. His chest expanding like something growing inside of him: a restless beast waking from its slumber as arrows slice through the air. He can hear the shouts of his mother's army. Can hear Derek's bitten off cry of pain, and Rikka's scream.

His chest expands again as the thing inside him drinks in the smell of blood, thick and rich. Hot like smelted iron he can feel it drip down his hands. Can see it on Braeden's throat. Can scent Derek's blood in the air.

Scott meets Braeden's eyes again, dark to dark.

She's six steps away from him, and on her knees, and the thing inside of him thrashes at the sight. Wants him to reach out for her, snarling at the barrier between them. It curls up Scott's mouth in a growl. Growing and growing, pushing behind his skin until it sparks, shooting heat through him like a boiling rage.

The Wolf's face is smug as he turns from the battlefield where his army has shifted on his order, marching forward. Smug until he meets Scott's eyes, and Scott can smell his fear. See the flash of it in his pale eyes.

"You fear me," Scott says, the words sounding foreign around the sharpness of his teeth, his vision gone red. The barrier bends and then cracks open like thunder, as Scott falls on the Wolf like a storm.

Teeth and claws and instinct driving the skill that Braeden had hammered into him over and over during their two year exile. His chest expanding again to scent the terror from the Wolf below him. Scott wants to breathe it in, to wallow in it as payment for every bit of his life that had been taken from him.

"Call them off," Scott snarls, his hand at the Wolf's throat.

The Wolf's eyes flicker red, his eyes skittering to his two guards brought down by Braeden, and the witch standing silent at Braeden's side. His mouth curves like the edge of a blade when he looks back to Scott. "No."

Scott's eyes burn back at him, and for the first time in his life, Scott wants to kill. Wants to let the beast inside him ravage his enemy: feel his enemy's flesh between his jaws, taste the blood on his tongue.

"He will not call them back," the witch says, her voice blade-sharp. "But you can." Scott cocks his head at her, listening for her heartbeat, to the thunder call of the Wolf's army surging forward. "My mate was conscripted into his army against her will by the Alpha's call. It is the only thing that could bring them back now."

Scott's brow furrows as he tries to recall Derek's stories of his mother. His Alpha. Her will and the pack's will always one in the same.

"But they are not my pack."

He looks up at her. Sees the cold steel of her eyes when she says, "They are not his either."

"Call them to you," Braeden says softly.

Scott can only stumble forward to the east. The valley still drenched in shadow, even as the sun begins its slow climb. He can see the mass of bodies moving toward his mother's army like a many limbed monster. Can feel Derek at the edge of his consciousness: his strength and his pain throbbing deep inside of him.

The beast uncurls again, thrumming beneath his skin as it reaches out for Derek's presence. Call them, he thinks wildly, as he plants his feet in the earth, closing his eyes and clutching the feel of Derek close.

He can feel the warmth on his back as the sun finally crests the hill behind him. Then he breathes in.

And roars.  
***  
When he was sixteen, Scott went with his mother to one of the border villages.

"Their homeland is in turmoil," his mother had explained. "They come to us seeking our help."

"The council thinks they should swear fealty to you before giving them aid," Scott had said, because he'd heard the days of endless arguments just as she had.

"What do you think?"

Scott had looked at the hollow eyed faces of those seeking refuge: anger and pain and loss warring with a desperate kind of hope when they'd seen his mother step out of the provision filled carriage in her healing robes.

"I think we should help them," he had said firmly.

He doesn't have a wagon filled with provisions or a healing robe, but he's starkly reminded of that day when the Wolf's army stumbles towards him, eyes filled with that same painful hope.

"Scott." Braeden's voice is barely audible over the whispers of, _Alpha_.

"You should go to Derek." For two years she's been all he could see, but he can't look at her now. "He needs you, a-and you both need my mother. Please," he adds, forcing his eyes up. "Please look for her and tell her...tell her everything."

"You should come with me."

She has claw marks on her throat still seeping blood, and Scott can still feel the dull throb of Derek's pain, but- "I can't." He doesn't let his voice shake. "They need me here."

It is the truth, and he waits for her nod of acceptance before he turns, unable to watch her walk away. He's always known he'd be unable to watch her walk away, despite encouraging her to do just that on many an occasion. Just as he'd always known that she would one day take him up on his offer.

"It's okay," Scott says, tugging on the ragged cloak of authority. It's been years, but Scott's been trained from birth to lead.

He sinks into the feeling: organizing food, water, clothing. Comfort. They seek his touch even as they shy away, and Scott keeps his voice soft, his movements steady. He doesn't blame them, this army that would have savaged his people. He understands only too well what's it like to be under another's control.  
***  
It's half a day before he leaves the makeshift camp and steps foot on his mother's land for the first time in two years. He washed as well as he could with a cold bucket of water, but he knows he looks a mess.

At one side walks a long legged coyote, her tongue lolling out, but her eyes watchful. At the other is Julia's mate, her clawed feet digging into the earth and her chin held high.

He sees the ripple of surprise wash over the faces of the army he used to be ready to command; like the wind's fingers brushing through a field of golden wheat, rushing far ahead with whispers. He can hear them. His name spoken now with awe and fear instead of the steady comfort he'd courted as Prince.

He gets five more steps before he sees his mother's face and his breath catches on half a sob.

In the next moment he's down on his knees his mother's arms around him and he's shaking like he's going to fly apart. 

"My baby," she says as he clings to her. "My son. It's okay, everything's okay. You're home now."

But he isn't home.

Hours later and he knows this, because his mother's heir is staring at him across the sleek wooden council table, young and stormy-eyed.

"They would have killed us." He's talking about Malia and Kali, but his eyes never stray from Scott's.

"They were under the power of an evil man," Scott returns calmly, "Their will was not their own."

"And now they're under your power," he says, leaning forward, all coiled strength. They'd been introduced earlier, and all Scott could think was that his name meant protector of the high castle in the old tongue.

"No," Kali says, her eyes flashing red. "My mate made sure his magic died with him."

_"Are our choices always right then," Scott had murmured at the edge of a dusty battlefield, when the sun was at its zenith. He'd seen the Wolf's smile sharpen, even as men and beast pressed against the barrier that held him fast._

_"You cannot protect them," the Wolf had rasped. Circled by the very beings he had enslaved, his pale gaze stayed focused on Scott's. "You are weak like your father before you."_

_Scott had closed his eyes. Let himself breathe; his chest expanding, careful and tempered. Too weak and the flame sputters out, he'd thought. Too much and there's nothing but ash._

_"I do not know what is in your heart," Scott had said, shaking his head and stepping back. "But I hope you will find peace."_

_The Wolf had blinked in confusion when the barrier broke and Scott did not move as Kali stepped forward._

Scott had remained dry eyed when he'd asked Kali to come with him to arrange a truce.

He remains dry eyed now as he meets Liam's gaze. "The shifters have no quarrel with the people of these lands. They require only license to hunt and fair trade."

"For how long?"

"Liam," Melissa says from the doorway with soft rebuke.

Once Scott had pulled himself together, he'd asked her about Braeden and Derek. She would not have returned to the council room now unless they were well, and something inside Scott eases at her presence.

She turns to Kali and smiles warmly. "We will give you what aid you need-"

"My Queen," Liam interrupts, but Melissa continues undaunted.

"And the offer to stay in these lands. For through you my son has come home, and that is a gift without price."

Kali looks at Melissa for a long moment, her dark gaze searching, then she nods slowly. "Your offer is generous, but my people need land of their own and time to heal."

"I believe I can give you both." The voice is free of pain, and Scott's breath catches, his heart thundering threefold as he turns sharply to catch sight of Derek with Braeden at his side. 

The coyote's head cocks to one side, but Kali's gaze is shrewd. "Is that an offer of marriage, Lord Hale?"

"What?" The word bursts free from his own mouth, and Scott can't help but cringe.

Kali glances back at him, eyebrow raised. "The curse on Hale lands cannot be broken, even after Deucalion's death. It was his will that no one shall rule Hale lands save for a Hale Alpha, and it was my understanding," she says, turning back to Derek, "that Lord Hale was forced to give up that status to save his sister."

"What you say is true," Derek agrees, stepping further into the room. He's moving stiffly, and Scott has to fight his instinct to move closer, to aid him, but he stays himself when he sees Braeden step to his side. "But it is not marriage I offer," Derek continues. "Before my status was stripped from me, I gave what land I could to those I trusted. They battle to keep the curse from those lands, and it is hard fought. They would welcome allies."

Kali regards him with her dark, penetrating gaze. Her eyes briefly glance at Braeden before she speaks. "You would rather your kingship in ruins than marriage?" 

Slowly, Derek moves his hand. Curls it around Braeden's scarred, smaller one, and Scott ducks his head to hide the emotion he knows is etched in his face. The thing inside him that had burst free is building again, not a howl of rage or pleading, but one of mourning.

"I would rather neither of us sacrifice any more of our free will than necessary," Derek replies, his voice tender and sweet, like a flower in first bloom. "Take the land and marry your love."  
***  
His mother leads him down familiar hallways. "I figured you'd be comfortable here," she says, and Scott can't help but find his smile.

His rooms remain the same, even after two years. "I would have thought you'd had them redone for your new heir." He keeps his voice easy because he does not begrudge her Liam's presence. He'd known the moment he'd stepped out the castle gates that she'd need to announce another heir or risk unrest.

"It would have done him a disservice to expect him to fill your role instead of create his own. But that is only part." She steps to him, her hands cradling his face like she'd done since he was a child. "The truth is, there will always be a place for you in my home. And in my heart."

He leans his head against hers, and lets himself breathe in slowly. Lets himself remember her scent, and the feel of her arms around him. "I missed you," he says, voice cracking.

"Then you must tell me everything. Let me know your life again."

He ends up with his head resting on her lap like he'd done as a child when he told her of his daily adventures. Her hand stroking softly through his hair as she'd laughed or sighed as his exploits.

"You sound in love," she murmurs as the hour grows late.

He can't help but stiffen and pull back from her, even though he knows how much that must give away.

"Scott," she says, soft and full of love, and he can feel the sting of tears at her gentleness. "Why do you not tell them?"

"Because love should not be a burden." His voice breaks, and he cannot bear to look at his mother. Cannot bear to see the sympathy in her dark eyes. He steps to the balcony, letting the cool of the night tame the stinging in his eyes.

He remembers nights spent out here as a child. His brother sneaking through their connecting door and both of them giggling as the stars lit up the sky. The scent of lilacs below them as they'd told each other tales of horror and heroism. Never tales of love, and he wishes now keenly for his brother's voice to tell of his courtship and marriage that Scott had missed while in exile.

He closes his eyes and steadies himself. "I have already burdened Braeden for too long," he says finally. "It was a relief to watch her love grow for Derek. To see that same love echo in him. I could not bear to tarnish that memory with the guilt I know they would feel if I confessed my feelings for them both."

"You would keep silent to spare their feelings or your own?" She's stepped up next to him, her face shadowed, but her eyes are still too knowing.

"Both, perhaps. Maybe I shall travel to Derek's lands with the pack. Aid them as I can, and then," he breaks off on a shrug, his life's path spinning out in front of him, dark and lonely.

"Perhaps you could marry Derek instead," his mother offers like a gilded knife. "Break the curse on his lands."

He clamps down on his thoughts immediately, not allowing himself to entertain the idea. "You heard him in the council room. He would marry for love, not as a sacrifice. It is what I would wish for him."

"It is not a sacrifice to choose I freely."

Scott whips around to see Derek standing in the middle of his rooms, Braeden at the connecting doorway between his room and his brother's.

Scott's chest goes tight, his head clouding with a desire so intense that he cannot move. Can barely find the breath to speak. "I believe your choice to be perfection, my lord. There is no other but Braeden who would suit you so well. No other but you who has earned her high regard."

"Except you," Derek says easily.

"No, I-" he looks to Braeden. "Please tell him."

"I have," she says, stepping forward. "And now I shall tell you in plain words, for you will believe nothing else." Her eyes are beautiful in the candlelight; gold glinting in the black like stars. Her hand warm when she lifts it to cup his cheek. "I thought the gift of love carved out of me when we first met. Like a cliff, scarred and beaten back by storms, I knew I could be strong, I could protect you, but I knew nothing of beauty or of warmth."

"Braeden," he says, voice thick with pain for her, but she only drags her thumb over his lips to silence him. A smile curving at her mouth when he cannot help the stutter in his breath.

"You lit a flame inside of me. Even through the ugly and cruel of that first winter, I could see your kindness, see your light, and I reshaped myself. I found the heart of me," she says, taking his hand and pressing it to her chest. "And it beats for you."

Dazed, Scott can't help but drop his gaze to where her heart beats strong and steady beneath the warm brown of her skin. A warrior's heart, he's known it to be, and never duplicitous or unfaithful. Never deceitful, but he cannot help but balk at her words. "I have caused you only pain, my lady knight. Brought you no end of trouble."

"The trouble was not by your cause, though I would gladly face it again to be with you."

Her dark gaze is as strong and steady as her heartbeat, and Scott can't help but want to sink himself into the warmth of her regard. But her heartbeat is not the only that echoes in his ears, and he looks to where Derek still stands; his eyes soft and his smile sweet.

"I do not ask that you accept my name," Derek begins as he steps forward, "for I can imagine your joy at finally being able to reclaim your own. I do not ask that you accept my lands, for they are harsh and unforgiving, and my people perhaps unbending for having no leader for so long. I only ask," he continues, soft and heartbreakingly sincere, "that you accept my love for you, which has taken root in the heart of me."

Hope and promise give weight to the words, and Scott has been strong for hours, for days now. For years. He has neither the strength nor the will to cast aside their love when he can sink into it. Can let it surround him and ease the ache inside of him.

Love is a choice you make daily, Scott thinks, remembering Derek's words.

He cannot think to make any other choice but this.  
***  


The tree in the Hale courtyard is blackened; a huge beast of a thing that looks tortured and scarred. Rikka nickers when they get close, as if in greeting, and Scott tilts his head back as they ride underneath, feeling the warmth of the sun through the dark slash of branches. At his side, Braeden laughs, teasing a small smile from Derek.

Scott opens his eyes to the sunlight and just there on the branches near the top, he can see fresh new buds that tremble in the breeze. Slender branches reaching toward the sky; the stone castle sturdy and strong behind it.

Scott takes a slow breath, and lets it out with a smile, the wind whispering back to him _welcome home_.


End file.
